Director Aptly Brings Classic Author to Stage

With wit and a chorus of comedic delight, playwright Sarah Ruhl sets the stage for "Orlando," an adaptation of Virginia Woolf's novel of love, sex and gender roles. To be more honest, the stage is nothing more than a small platform, a sliding screen and a wooden pole-it's her words that make the barren set so vivid and fantastical.

"Orlando" follows a young man (Caitlin Talbot) who, at the behest of admirer Queen Elizabeth I, never grows old. He dallies in joys with the ladies until he finds himself enamored with the seductive Russian princess Sasha. She, of course, proceeds to break his heart. Sasha never leaves Orlando's memory, even when he awakes one morning to find he has become a she. The play then continues with Orlando the lady up until the present, or more correctly, Woolf's present.

Ruhl proves herself an incredibly talented writer whose prose mingles with Woolf's voice and quip. She supports the lead with a chorus/ensemble cast of four men, and this chorus builds the scene around Orlando. They narrate the setting, the action, some thoughts, and besides dressing "Orlando" in words, they also dress Orlando in lustrous costumes befitting time and sex.

Unfortunately, this chorus becomes a crutch for Ruhl. The play reads like a short story or even the original novel itself. Ruhl tells the story rather than shows as her chorus describes the setting, Orlando's thoughts and the action. Roughly put, it's literary masturbation on the stage when the most flowery language goes to a chorus rather than be sacrificed for the realness desired in dialogue. Nevertheless, the language, the sound of the play and its timing have the audience roaring in laughter.

The play is, after all, a comedy. The cast excels in moments when language breaks down, when Sasha and Orlando speak in fake French to each other (smatterings such as "Jacques Cousteau," "Gerard Depardieu" and the like), which the chorus then translates into comprehensible dialogue. Later, when the Archduke-once-Archduchess (Dan Morrison) returns to visit, Orlando and he square off in a sparring of looks that would be absolutely silent if not for the audience's twitters, chortles and also the guffaw of the woman sitting in the fourth row. In this moment, the actors can shine outside writerly masturbation, and their genius in timing and emoting pays off.

In fact, the chorus/ensemble steals the show in "Orlando," though you can't blame them when they have all the great lines. They master each cycling of characters with ease, through a fat, struggling Shakespeare to Monty-Python-inspired maids. Morrison, though, emerges the real star of the night. Either rendition of the Archduchess or the Archduke, with the affected Romanian accent and the shameless, flinging flirtation, has the audience in fits. It's rather unfair to put Morrison on the stage against Talbot.

Granted, Talbot has the difficult task of tackling two sexes of the same character, but she is undeniably female and never fully convincing as male. She cannot rival the prowess of Morrison or the androgyny of Tilda Swinton in the 1992 film adaptation. Her drag as boy Orlando lacks believability, and that's not just because the velvet breeches are apt to show a subtle cameltoe.

In its production, the play has some holes, but the combination of cast and word paint a world so magical and endearing that any faults can be overlooked. You can quibble what it means when an understanding of life segues into a Radiohead song, but Ruhl's move from page to stage is laudable and most importantly enjoyable.

Tags: AMERICAN CONSERVATORY THEATER